


Would You Stay Right Here? (or, The Three Times Frank Iero Ran Away And The One Time He Didn't)

by chzo_mythos



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, teenage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chzo_mythos/pseuds/chzo_mythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank has a habit of running away from things, especially things involving Mikey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Stay Right Here? (or, The Three Times Frank Iero Ran Away And The One Time He Didn't)

There’s something inherently romantic about punk rock. Between the fast, angry rhythms, the slamming of bodies, the sweat and the blood and the fucking _rush_ you get; Frank thought it was better than anything from the romance novel he definitely didn't read in middle school.

So he, of course, thinks that it maybe, kinda, almost, sort of means something when he sees his crush, Mikey Way, at a local show. _Mikeyway_ , the AV Club kid, who used to date Pete and Gabe (and, according to some rumors, Joe), who is openly gay, but doesn't get shit for it because every one is afraid that his goth older brother will come out of the shadows he hides in and punch them in the throat, who's only words to Frank, ever, were "hey, kid, you left your notebook on your desk" (and Frank never _didn't_ hate being called a kid so much), who had never shown so much as a casual interest in punk rock, the closest being the Smashing Pumpkins bag he carries fucking everywhere, and they're _meant_ to be together. Frank knows. 

Among the scene girls with their tight jeans and raccoon eyes, and the scene boys with their even tighter jeans and studded belts, Mikey stands out in his slightly baggy pants and fitted Radiohead shirt. The band isn't that good, definitely more pop than Frank normally goes for, but he thinks that may be a good thing when Mikey turns to him and smiles. Frank is leaning back against the wall next to the bar, fake ID having been denied (the douche bartender laughing and shaking his head at Frank, whatever, some adults are short, motherfucker), when Mikey walks— _strides_ —over to him, smile still present when he stops infront of Frank, turning slightly so he can see the band out of the corner of his eye. And never having been this close to Mikey, Frank can’t help but realize how fucking tall he is. Yeah, okay, everyone is taller than Frank, except maybe Pete, but Mikey is _tall_ tall (Frank thinks his head would fit perfectly under Mikey’s chin), and it would be intimidating except for Mikey’s face splitting grin, that would look stupid on anyone else. But this is _Mikey_.

“Hey, Frank, right?” He says, even though he already knows the answer.

Frank nods stupidly for a moment, lost in how fucking perfect his name sounds on Mikey’s tongue, before he sticks out his hand awkwardly for Mikey to shake. 

“Yeah. Mikey. You are.”

Mikey laughs, mumbles something about “some fucking Yoda shit”, and shakes Frank’s hand firmly, Frank trying desperately to not faint at the feeling of Mikey’s smooth skin on his own, rough, calloused, hand. He does this sort of twirl thing, letting go of Frank’s hand and moving next to him, leaning against the wall with a grace that Frank attributes to that of a supermodel. Only better. 

“This band is shit,” Mikey says, and yeah, they’re meant to be, “want a drink?”

Frank nods, smiling softly.

”Please.” And Mikey’s gone in the blink of an eye. Well, okay, not really. Frank can see him if he turns his head, see the way he eloquently leans over the counter, getting the bartender’s attention immediately with how fucking _charming_ he is, can see the way the bartender blushes and doesn’t even check Mikey for ID as he hands him two beers, can see the wink Mikey gives him as he turns back to Frank. 

Mikey’s still smiling when he passes Frank his drink, soft tips of his fingers brushing Frank’s knuckles. Frank reaches into his back pocket with his other hand, going for his wallet when Mikey grabs his wrist (Frank can’t help having flashes of Mikey holding his wrists above his head, restraining Frank as he slides into him) and stops him, shaking his head.

“Nah, I got it.” Frank just nods again, not really trusting his voice, but manages to croak out a “thanks” before taking a swig of his alcohol. 

He doesn’t know when it happened, but somehow their shoulders are touching, and Frank again realizes how much taller Mikey is. 

“This band sounds like a shitty version of Blink 182” Mikey says, smiling to Frank.

“So, you mean, like regular Blink 182?”

Mikey giggles and punches Frank’s shoulder playfully, and oh my god, Frank thinks, is Mikey flirting? They’re so close, Frank can feel Mikey’s breath when he exhales, warm on his already heated flesh. Mikey turns back to the band, leaning against the wall, pushing his glasses up with one hand and taking a quick drink with the other. Frank follows suit, downing his beer in a flash. He turns to say something to Mikey the exact time Mikey turns to say something to him, and it would be like a surprise movie kiss, except that Frank’s lips are pressed into the print of Mikey’s shirt and Mikey’s lips barely graze the top of Frank’s mohawk thing. And Frank, being the stupid, _stupid_ , guy he is, backs away quickly, stutters out an apology, and fucking bolts from the club, running to his shitty Subaru and speeding the whole way back to his house, where he locks himself in his room and doesn’t come out the rest of the weekend, except for food and bathroom usage, muttering to himself all the while that he is an idiot. 

\---

“Can I sit with you?” Mikey asks back at school a few days later.

Frank takes a headphone out of his ear and does a double take when he sees Mikey standing infront of his table in Psychology. They haven’t really spoken since _that_ night, short, awkward ‘hello’s in the hallways during passing about sums it up.

“Yeah. But what about your usual table?” As soon as the words leave Frank’s mouth, he wants to physically grab them and shove them back down his throat. _Don’t question why Mikey fucking Way wants to sit with you, asshole._

Mikey shrugs a bit and tosses his bag on the table and sits down.

“There’s this new kid there and I’m afraid he’ll try and convert me to something.”

Frank just smiles and nods. 

They don’t speak for the rest of class, but Frank thinks that they would have if their teacher hadn’t been lecturing them. He hopes, anyway.

\---

Mikey’s there again the next day, in class before Frank because he had to stop by his locker to grab his jacket, fucking baseball star Jack Gorman and his fucking fantastic idea to punch Frank so hard he coughed up blood, dribbling down his chin and all over his fucking white shirt, _fucking hell_ , and normally he’d be into it, but he wants to look perfect—well, as perfect as he can—for Mikey. It’s way too hot in the classroom for Frank’s heavy jacket, but he has it zipped up anyway as he smiles and sits across from Mikey.

“That kid is sitting somewhere else today.” _I fucking hate you, you know that, mouth? Shut up!_

Mikey just shrugs—something Frank is noticing he does a lot—and smiles wide and genuine—something that never ceases to amaze Frank and even makes him blush a bit.

The bell rings and Frank begrudgingly directs his attention away from Mikey’s mouth and to the man standing at the front of the room, their Psych teacher, Mr. Slough, who, aside from the movie cliché of bald, male, teachers being jerks, is actually pretty cool, Frank’s favorite teacher, who assigns them a project—analyzing one facet of human thought. And, he lets them pick their own partners. 

Frank turns back to Mikey and smiles at him shyly.

“Wanna be partners?”

Mikey scoffs a bit and all the blood rushes from Franks face.

“Duh.”

And Frank is sure his face mimics a strobe light with how it lights up and fades within seconds, but he doesn’t care enough to stop the grin so big that physically hurts his muscles to produce. 

\---

They decided—Mikey decided—that they’d go to the Way residence after school on Friday, and Frank’s week never seemed longer. Okay, well, the project was assigned in 1st period on _Friday_ , so really, it was only, like, 6 hours, but fucking still. Longest. 6 hours. EVER. 

They meet at Frank’s locker, which Frank didn’t really know about, but when he comes out of Chemistry and sees Mikey leaning oh-so-sexily next to his locker, he doesn’t really mind. Frank smiles at Mikey and opens his locker, thanking a god he doesn’t believe in that for fucking once his locker decides to cooperate with him. He tosses everything he doesn’t need inside and slams it shut.

“We ready?” Mikey asks, thrusting himself off the metal so he’s standing infront of Frank.

Frank nods and smiles. _We. Oh holy shit, Frank. Don’t pass out. Don't. Pass out._

They make their way to Mikey’s car in silence, Frank fighting the urge to smile like an idiot the whole way. And when Mikey opens the door for Frank, _like a fucking gentleman_ , Frank can’t resist and brakes out into a face-splitting grin, heart fluttering when Mikey smiles back. Mikey starts the car and soon the loud riffs of a Nada Surf chorus allow Frank to stay quite the whole ride to Mikey’s house, so relieved because he has no idea what he would even say. Frank can’t help but stare at Mikey while he drives, his lean arms somehow tense and lax at the same time, his lips half forming the words to Popular, his eyes staring intently at the road ahead, the perfect way the sun shines through the windshield and reflects off his skin, making him fucking glow.

Mikey pulls into his driveway sooner than Frank is ready for, but then it hits him that he’s at _Mikeyway’s house_ and he smiles again. Mikey comes around and opens his door, so fucking charming, and leads him to the front door. He turns the knob, and then scrunches his face in confusion when it doesn’t open. He raises his fist and pounds hard on the door before it swings open. Frank’s never seen Mikey’s brother before, and he has to admit, he’s pretty hot. _~~Not as hot as Mikey, of course.~~_

"Gerard, why was the door locked?” Mikey says, sidestepping his brother and ushering Frank inside. 

“S’Jersey man, gotta be careful.” Gerard says, his voice wrecked. 

”Bullshit. You’ve left the door wide open before, _at night_. Now why was the door locked?”

Gerard blushes a bit and shuts the door, eyes looking everywhere but Mikey and Frank.

“Ray was over.”

Mikey raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, before something clicks and he makes a face, half horrified, half giddy.

“Oh. Oh, Gee,” he starts, disgusted, “fucking gross man. Gah.” he’s smiling while he says it, though.

Gerard smirks.

“You asked.”

Mikey scoffs and grabs Frank’s arm lightly, tugging him towards the stairs.

“Yeah but, I…shit. Me and Frankie are going upstairs. Please don’t fuck Ray or anything.”

Gerard laughs a little bit and waves.

“Same goes for you two.”

Mikey’s turned around now so Frank can’t see his face, but the groan he lets out gives him a clear enough idea of what it looks like. They get to Mikey’s room and Mikey just kind of stands infront of the door, lacing his hands behind his back and swaying a bit. Frank cocks his head to the side and takes the initiative, turning the knob and letting the door swing open of its own accord. Mikey’s room is pretty typical, Frank assumes, of what a God’s room looks like. Okay, no. But the posters on the walls are awesome, and there are all of Frank’s favorite comics on the desk, and the bed looks so comfortable.

“So, uh, here we are.” Mikey says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

Frank turns to him and grins, dropping his bag on the floor and sitting in the desk chair. Mikey tosses his bag down beside Frank’s and sits on the bed, stretching his arms over his head before resting them on his legs, leaning over slightly in Frank’s direction.

“Sorry about that whole thing downstairs…” He says, rocking back and forth nervously. 

Frank shrugs and smiles. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mikey smiles back and continues. 

“It’s just…as you can tell, Gerard’s kinda…antisocial. But ever since I introduced him to Ray, he’s been really happy. I like when he’s happy, ya’know? But that still doesn’t mean I wanna hear about them fucking.”

Frank laughs a bit.

“Did you notice Gerard’s voice?” Frank asks, “It sounds like he was giving Ray—”

“Lalalalalalala” Mikey throws his hands over his ears and cups them tightly, clenching his eyes shut “lalala I’m not listening lalalalala”

Frank giggles and leans forward, touching Mikey’s hand with his own. Mikey stops yelling and opens his eyes, staring at Frank behind slightly fogged glasses, and that’s when Frank realizes he’s been breathing on the lenses and pulls away quickly, apologizing like he accidentally shot Mikey’s dog. 

“Shit, I didn’t, I’m…fuck. I—I’m so sorry. You know what, I can do my part at home, I think I’ll just go.”

The look on Mikey’s face is heartbreaking, and Frank wants to desperately shoot himself in the head.

“O-okay. Um, would you like a ride home?”

Frank swallows hard and shakes his head.

“N-no. No. I’ll be okay. See ya’.”

Mikey nods, staring dejectedly at the floor. Frank picks up his bag and opens the door.

“See you, Frank.” Mikey says, and he sounds on the verge of tears. 

Frank takes a deep breath and bites his lip, using all of his energy to nod and shut Mikey’s door behind him, bounding down the stairs. Mikey’s brother is waiting for him there at the bottom, paint smeared, —and maybe some _other_ liquids—hands on his hips, left cocked out, eyes dark, brows knitted in confusion.

“You’re leaving?” He asks, pale lips pursed tight when he closes his mouth.

Frank just nods. Gerard nods back at him, turning his body so Frank can get by. Frank starts toward the front door.

“Wait.”

He turns back, eying Gerard warily. He honestly doesn’t want to leave, but he needs to. He fucking needs to. 

“So, hey. Frank.”

”Mmm?”

“You’re a cool dude and all, but I just gotta let you know. You break my baby brother’s heart, I break your face. Kay?”

“Yeah, s’cool Gerard. But, you know, he doesn’t even like me like that.”

“…You’re so fucking stupid.”

Now Frank’s eyebrows are furrowed, half in confusion, half in anger. He hates being called _fucking stupid._

“Um, excuse me?”

“You heard me. Mikey likes you, doofus. I’m not supposed to say anything, but I can tell you like him too.”

Frank stands there, mouth agape. Then he turns around, opens the door, and sprints home. When he gets to his house he throws open the door, yells a hurried greeting to his mother and tells her not to disturb him the same time he opens his bedroom door, slamming it shut and locking it with a practiced speed, and jerks off, cumming before he even makes it to his bed.

\---

He doesn’t dream Friday night, not really anyway ( _Himself, mouth, cock, making him do, big, almost there, Mikey, **oh.**_ ). Pretend memories, real images from the future? No. No, not real. Dream. Fake, dream, not real, no. Fuck. He’s kind of not alive right now. 

The rest of his Saturday is spent in bed, half asleep, half awake. Half trying to put together the images in his mind, half trying to ignore the flashes of _alivealivealive_ , not alive. 

Frank needs to go out, he decides. Luckily, Gabe’s family is gone for the weekend, some relative getting married or died or something, so Gabe has the house to himself. And while Gabe may not be the best student or the best athlete, he’s the best thrower of parties, for sure. 

Frank knocks on the door Saturday night, shitty, but danceable, Euro-pop blasting from within, and Gabe opens it, smiling wide, already handing Frank a drink and ushering him inside. Before he even gets all the way into the living room, a few girls trot by—shirtless. Gabe, who will fuck anything that moves, smiles and winks at Frank, patting him on the back before following the girls upstairs. Frank shrugs a bit to himself and takes a swig of his beer, striding into the living room and flopping limply on the couch, content in watching the passing party-goers, creating identities and stories in his mind for them. He sees a boy and a girl talking by the staircase and he imagines the boy being a vampire and trying to convince the girl why she should let him drink her blood. He sees another guy passed out in the chair across from him and he imagines him as a zombie victim. Then he sees Mikey. He’s just walked in, Gabe left the door open, dumbass, and he spots Frank right away. He bites his lip nervously, and heads straight for the kitchen. Frank wills himself not to watch Mikey go, but he does anyway, hypnotized by the deliberate sway of Mikey’s hips. 

It’s Frank’s turn to bite his lip as his hands curl into tight fists against his jeans. He feels like an asshole, he really does. He likes Mikey, and he knows that Mikey likes him, (he’s pretty sure anyway, from what Gerard said, he _is_ his brother after all) so why can’t things just work? 

He sets his drink on the table the same time a new song starts and Frank takes it as a sign and follows Mikey into the kitchen (though really, he’d have taken anything as a sign to find Mikey). He sees him immediately, leaning fluidly against the counter, red plastic cup in one hand, the other tapping out a beat, that didn’t match the song drifting from the stereo, against his thigh. Frank walks over to him, confident movements in direct opposition to the nervous way his lip is quivering. Frank stops in front of him, and nudges his hand with his own when Mikey doesn’t notice him. Mikey glances down from the ceiling and doesn’t look surprised when he sees Frank. 

“Hey.” He says, taking a drink of his—Frank assumes—beer. 

“Hey.” Frank says back, taking a drink from a pretend cup.

Mikey sort of laughs and passes Frank his own cup. Frank nods gratefully and watches the way Mikey’s torso bends when he turns and leans over the counter to grab another beverage, not really caring enough to go get his own and taking his chances on the content of the uniformed cups. Frank takes a sip of the drink—he was right, beer—and pretends he can still taste Mikey’s lips on the rim. 

With the way he’s leaning against the counter, Mikey is just as tall as Frank, and Frank would be happier if the lights were on, so he could see Mikey’s eyes better. The music gets louder as a popular song Frank’s heard in passing on the radio comes on, and he leans forward to talk into Mikey’s ear, but with the dark and the alcohol in his blood, and his nerves, he misjudges and his lips move against Mikey’s cheek, mumbling “srr uh wssss ahinn vddd” into Mikey’s warm flesh. He pulls away, and stares at Mikey, blinks his wide eyes and turns and leaves, bolting outside, onto the patio where he can hear himself think. He knows Mikey’s looking at him and his hands shake as he lights a cigarette, inhaling the toxicity that actually doesn’t calm him down at all. He smokes almost his whole pack before he finally settles down and takes in a deep breath of clean—well, Jersey clean—air and tosses the cigarette onto the cement, watching it burn itself out briefly before turning and going back inside. 

Mikey’s moved away from their spot in the kitchen, Frank figured he would, he’d been outside for probably a good 40 minutes. He walks into the living room and scans for him, totally fucking ready to talk, and sees him in the corner, next to the zombie victim, dancing. With Pete. It’s a flash of sweat and groins and hips, and then Mikey’s eyes connect with Frank’s. He bites his lip, but Frank isn’t sure whether its because of him or Pete, but it really doesn’t matter and Frank runs, something he’s becoming increasingly good at, and gets to his car, speeding home so fast he’s actually surprised he didn’t get pulled over. And he goes to his room, his mom already asleep, and just flops lazily on his bed, and groans into his pillow. His eyes begin to water, he tells himself he isn’t crying, not over how stupid he is, not over Mikeyway. 

\---

The doorbell wakes him up the next morning. His eyelids flutter open and he mumbles incoherent protests into the mattress. He’s about to yell for his mom to get the door before he remembers that it’s Sunday and she’s at church. Groaning, he gets up and stumbles out of his room, almost tripping down the stairs, and calls out “coming” when the doorbell rings again.

He opens the door and his eyes go wide because Mikey is at the door, and in retrospect, Frank should have guessed this, but he’s a bit hung over and way too early for this shit right now? He’s pretty sure.

“Uh, h-hey.”

“Pete and I didn’t fuck last night.”

Okay, that’s totally not what Frank was expecting, and he just kind of opens his mouth, like he was really gonna say anything, yeah right, and nods stupidly.

“So, uh…” Mikey shifts a bit on his feet, swaying back and forth nervously, and it’s really endearing, and it makes Frank totally forget the fact that Mikey woke him up before noon, “can I come in?”

Frank nods stupidly again and moves so Mikey can get in, closing the door behind him. 

“I like your house.” Mikey says, wandering into the living room and sitting on the sofa. 

For what feels like the millionth time, Frank nods kind of stupidly and sits in the chair across from Mikey. 

“How’d you find where I live?”

Mikey shrugs. 

“I asked around”

“Oh.” Frank bites his lip and stares at his carpet. 

Mikey reaches out over the coffee table and rests his hand on Frank’s. Frank stands abruptly, knocking Mikey’s hand away with his knee.

“I think I should go.”

Mikey blinks and cocks his head to the side.

“It’s…your house.”

Frank shrugs.

“Y-yeah, well…”

Mikey sighs and stands, grabbing Frank’s wrist, in the _same fucking way_ , and pulls Frank close.

“Fucking hell, Frank. Would you stop fucking running for once? Just stay here and talk to me, or do something, just let me know how you feel, because I’m sick of being jerked around like this.”

Frank bites his lip and his eyes dart to the ground and he hears Mikey sigh again.

“Alright” he says, letting go of Frank’s wrist and going to the door, “I don’t care anymore.”

“Wait!” Frank exclaims, turning around and walking to Mikey, pressing him against the door.

And he kisses him. It can really barely be called that, really, it’s more their lips are resting against each other, but there’s a definite spark and it makes Frank press his chest closer; if Mikey doesn’t know how Frank feels, his racing heart should give him a hint. They have to pull away to breathe properly, and as soon as he does, Frank feels empty.

“I…I like you. A lot.” He whispers against Mikey’s lips, taking a breath and going in again.

Mikey laughs into it, mumbling “no shit” in Frank’s mouth. Mikey throws his arms around Frank’s neck—taking the ‘female’ role, despite his height—and Frank lets his hands rest on Mikey’s hips, feeling more alive than ever.


End file.
